


worth every cut and bruise and scream

by andrewminyards



Series: witchertober [5]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Bard Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Canon-Typical Violence, Feral Eskel, Feral Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Feral Lambert, Fluff and Angst, Human Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, M/M, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Role Reversal, Witcher Jaskier | Dandelion, bard!eskel, bard!lambert, they're a feral bard boyband
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:46:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27138187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andrewminyards/pseuds/andrewminyards
Summary: “Filthy mutant, we don’t want your kind here,” the man hisses, smashing his tankard against Jaskier’s face, and Geralt sees red. How dare he insult and attack Jaskier like this, when all Jaskier has done is try and help?Geralt launches himself at the man, bashing his lute over the top of his head. Behind him, Lambert lets out a triumphant whoop as he and Eskel throw themselves into the group of drunks who’d surrounded Jaskier, who’ddaredto treat him with such cruelty.“Serves them right,” Lambert sneers when the brawl is over, the group of drunks laying on the ground, groaning in pain. “Fucking arseholes.”Eskel nods in agreement, and Geralt bares his teeth in a satisfied grin. “Damn right.”Or: Reverse!AU but Geralt, Eskel, and Lambert are all bards in a band together, and they go feral when someone insults their witcher.
Relationships: Eskel & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Lambert, Eskel & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion & Lambert
Series: witchertober [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1968391
Comments: 57
Kudos: 487





	worth every cut and bruise and scream

**Author's Note:**

> written for witchertober day 21: feral - i went for feral bard, but this time, it's geralt and eskel and lambert all being feral bards in a reverse au

“Filthy mutant,” a man hisses somewhere in the far corner of the tavern. A murmur of agreement rises amongst the patrons, a wave of  _ mutantbeastmonster _ , and Geralt grits his teeth in the middle of the song, fury simmering within him as his grip tightens around his lute. 

How  _ dare _ they. 

He sneaks a glance towards Jaskier, whose shoulders have curled inwards slightly, but he gazes resolutely into the depths of his tankard, showing no reaction to the insult, and Geralt hates that Jaskier is subject to such hatred, hates that Jaskier endures it without a word. He shouldn’t have to - all he does is  _ help _ people, and all he gets in return is hatred and fear, simply because he’s a witcher, and Geralt hates it. 

A look towards Eskel and Lambert shows that they’re similarly furious, Lambert’s eyes taking on a sharp edge as he hits the drums a little too hard, and Eskel’s knuckles are white around his flute, the usually graceful notes suddenly becoming clumsy and off-key. 

Then the man gets up, ale sloshing in his tankard, and stumbles over to where Jaskier is sitting in the corner, followed by a group of his friends, and Geralt’s lute twangs out a discordant note as his voice falters.

“You.” The man jabs a finger at Jaskier, who looks at him with cold eyes. The man sways a little on his feet as he slurs, “Why the fuck are you here, huh, you disgusting monster? You - you think you can jus’ walk into our town and take our coin, huh? You dirty fucking mutant, we don’t wan’ you here!”

His voice grows progressively louder and his face turns redder as he speaks, but Jaskier stays in place, unmoving, and Geralt feels a growl build in his throat. He and Eskel and Lambert have stopped singing and playing, and it’s like the entire tavern is holding its breath, watching the interaction between Jaskier and the drunk man as they stare each other down. 

Jaskier says nothing, which only serves to infuriate the man further.

“ _ Leave _ , you beast,” the man snarls, and his friends echo in agreement, jeering at Jaskier, hurling insults and yelling obscenities. Geralt is bristling in anger, ready to throw himself at the man and his friends, ready to  _ eviscerate _ the man for talking to Jaskier that way, like he’s somehow  _ less _ than human, like he hadn’t just killed a griffin and saved more townspeople from dying. 

Geralt hates the way Jaskier is treated, and usually, when Geralt and his brothers are around, Jaskier doesn’t get much more than a few passing insults or fearful looks behind his back - this is the first time someone has directly confronted Jaskier so aggressively, so openly, and Geralt’s fingers twitch on his lute, itching to smash it over that man’s head. 

When Jaskier doesn’t respond, his face a blank mask, the man shakes his fist in Jaskier’s face threateningly, alcohol giving him courage in the face of a witcher. “I  _ said _ ,  _ leave _ .”

Slowly, Jaskier raises his hands placatingly, a show of peace. “Look, I don’t want any trouble,” he says evenly, and Geralt wonders how he can be so fucking  _ calm _ in the face of such horrible treatment. “I’ll just head up to my room now.”

“We don’t  _ wan’ _ you here, your kind causing nothing but trouble for us,” the man slurs, ignoring Jaskier’s attempt to soothe things over, and Geralt takes a few steps forward, closer to Jaskier, feeling Eskel and Lambert do the same. “Fucking  _ witchers _ , you lot are disgusting abomi - abominations, how dare you set foot here?”

The man’s voice rises and rises until he’s shouting in Jaskier’s face, his face turning an alarming shade of red, and then he smashes his tankard against Jaskier’s face. 

A collective gasp issues from the tavern patrons, and Geralt finds himself moving hurriedly towards Jaskier, tightening his grip on his lute, and behind him, Lambert lets out a furious snarl. 

Jaskier hasn’t reacted, even as a bruise blossoms across his cheek, and it’s like the man’s action has broken a dam as his friends surge towards Jaskier, hurling their tankards and random objects at him, and Geralt sees red. 

How  _ dare _ they attack Jaskier like this, when he’s done nothing but  _ help _ ? Furious, Geralt launches himself at the nearest drunk, bashing his lute over the top of the man’s head, and punches another in the face, sick satisfaction welling within him at the sound of a nose cracking underneath his fist.

There’s a whoop of triumph behind him, and Geralt turns around to see Lambert jamming one of his drumsticks into a patron’s stomach, causing him to double over. Somehow, Lambert has procured a knife in his other hand - where did the knife even  _ come _ from, Geralt was not aware that Lambert has a  _ knife _ \- and he flips it in his hand before slashing at another person’s legs, causing them to fall to the ground with a thud. 

Geralt ducks under a stray fist and grabs it, twisting it with all his strength, and grins when he hears a pained howl. Somewhere to his left, Eskel is using his bulk to toss aside the tavern patrons like they weigh nothing, all while he jabs at them aggressively with his flute, and grunts and shouts of pain fill the air as Geralt and his brothers wade through the people who’d  _ dared _ to insult and attack Jaskier. 

A sudden pain blooms in his gut, and Geralt lets out a low hiss. He sidesteps just in time to avoid another blow from a stumbling drunk, and brings his lute down over the person’s head, sending them to their knees. Sending a quick glance towards Jaskier, Geralt meets golden eyes wide with worry and concern. Jaskier is standing still, clearly unwilling to involve himself in the conflict lest he bring consequences upon himself, but Geralt sees the way his eyes dart restlessly across the room, his shoulders tense from holding himself back. 

The thought of Jaskier not being able to defend himself simply because he doesn’t want to fall into the image of  _ that filthy mutant _ , an image imposed on him by hateful humans but is so utterly false - it fuels the fire within Geralt, and he throws himself back into the brawl with renewed vigour. It’s a mess of arms and legs and a few stray instruments and a knife or two, and at some point Geralt gets punched in the face, leaving a sharp pain in his nose and the taste of copper bleeding into his mouth, but eventually, Eskel kicks the last drunk patron in the stomach, and the fight is over. 

The group of drunks who’d surrounded Jaskier, who’d thrown insults and hurled their tankards at him, are all laying on the ground, unconscious or unable to get up, while the rest of the tavern stares at them in silent shock. Lambert is grinning, wiping his knife on his doublet, and Eskel is carefully inspecting his flute, which is splattered with blood.

Part of Geralt preens in satisfaction at the sight of those horrid people laid out on the ground, wheezing and clutching their non-lethal injuries - after all, they deserve all of that, and worse, for treating Jaskier like he’s somehow  _ lesser _ than them, even though he’s done nothing but help, even though he’s a  _ good _ man, the best that Geralt has ever known. 

“Serves them right,” Lambert sneers, shaking his knife at the people laid out on the ground before he slips it somewhere underneath his doublet. “Fucking arseholes.”

Eskel nods in agreement, and Geralt bares his teeth in a satisfied grin at the people laid out rather pathetically on the ground. “Damn right.”

A soft huff comes from Jaskier, and Geralt meets his eyes, which are filled with something like mirth as he surveys the scene before him before locking eyes with Geralt. 

“We’ve probably caused enough trouble here for today,” he remarks, rising from his seat. Geralt is greeted with the sight of a purple bruise staining Jaskier’s right cheek, and he has to suppress an angry growl, reminding himself that the people responsible are laying on the ground, defeated. “We should head up to our rooms.”

He makes his way towards the stairs, and Geralt trails after him with his brothers at his back, raising his chin defiantly as he feels the stare of the remaining patrons on him, ignoring the way the blood dries on his face. Let them judge - Geralt isn’t ashamed of standing up for Jaskier, isn’t ashamed of attacking the people who’d insulted and hurt Jaskier unjustly. 

He’s not ashamed of defending his witcher - he knows that Jaskier is more than capable of defending himself, but he also knows that Jaskier won’t do that for fear of earning even more wrath and ire from prejudiced humans, and Geralt is more than willing to teach those horrible humans a lesson. 

They deserved it, anyway. 

No one stops them as they walk up the stairs towards the room that Geralt and Jaskier share, and Eskel shuts the door with an audible click.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Jaskier says softly, and they all turn to look at him. He’s standing in the middle of the room, and the moonlight filters in through the window, making the bruise stand out starker against his cheek. Geralt has no doubt that it will heal soon, but the sight still fills him with seething anger. “I would’ve been fine.”

“Those dickheads deserved that for saying such shit to you,” Lambert huffs angrily, crossing his arms as fury flashes across his eyes. 

“They did,” Eskel rumbles. “You shouldn’t have to just - endure that. They shouldn’t have said what they did, and they shouldn’t have attacked you.”

Jaskier’s lips curl up in a small, sad smile. “It is how it is. I’m used to it.”

“But you  _ shouldn’t _ be!” Lambert bursts out, flinging his arms in the air. Geralt nods, heart squeezing at the memory of how resigned Jaskier had looked in the face of  _ filthymutantmonsterbeast _ , and for a moment, he hates his fellow humans, hates them for being so narrow-minded and prejudiced, hates them for rejecting and ostracising the very people who save them from the monsters that lurk in the darkness. 

“You shouldn’t be,” Lambert repeats, quieter this time, and Jaskier meets his gaze steadily. “It’s - it’s horrible, and those people are awful. You shouldn’t - you shouldn’t -”

“You shouldn’t have to suffer through that,” Geralt interjects, taking a step towards Jaskier, aching to reach out, to touch him, to make sure he’s alright. “You shouldn’t have to just  _ take  _ it.”

Jaskier lifts a shoulder in a tired shrug. “This is the life of a witcher,” he mutters, and he sounds so  _ tired _ , so  _ resigned _ . Geralt hurts for him - how many decades, centuries has Jaskier lived like this, rejected and hated everywhere he goes? 

“Fucking bastards,” Lambert seethes, pacing the length of the room, anger visible in every step. “I can’t believe - I fucking - they deserve worse, I just -  _ ugh _ .”

Geralt knows what Lambert is feeling, feels the same fury thrumming underneath his skin, longing to be unleashed on those people who’d  _ dared _ to hurt Jaskier, and Geralt can tell that underneath his calm exterior, Eskel is feeling the same way. They’ve all grown fond of Jaskier, of  _ their _ witcher, and to see him be treated in such a way, to see him  _ hurt _ …

Geralt wants to rail against the world, against the prejudice and hatred and fear that is thrown at Jaskier, who deserves none of it, who deserves kindness and happiness and none of the cruelty of the world, who now has a permanent place in Geralt’s heart, and his brothers’ hearts. None of them can bear to see Jaskier being treated so cruelly, and Geralt knows that the same protective instinct rears within them when Jaskier is hurt.

Jaskier looks between them, expression softening at whatever he sees on their faces, something like wonder and pleasant surprise creeping into his eyes, and Geralt wonders if Jaskier has ever had anyone jump to his defence so readily, if he’s ever had someone care for him like this, the way Geralt and Eskel and Lambert do. 

Geralt hates the world for not seeing how  _ good _ Jaskier is, and he tightens his grip on his lute. He’ll sing his way across the Continent with his brothers, and they’ll make sure Jaskier is treated the way he deserves to be treated - with care, with respect. 

“It’s late.” Jaskier settles a hand on Lambert’s shoulder, and he stills. “You should rest - we’ll leave early tomorrow morning. I doubt they’ll want us to stay long, not after - well.”

Geralt can see the way Lambert is still vibrating with barely restrained fury, but he nods, and Eskel places a hand on his arm and guides him out of the room, leaving Geralt alone with Jaskier in their room. 

“Hey,” Geralt murmurs, setting his bloodied lute down and walking towards where Jaskier is still standing in the middle of the room. “If you didn’t want us to - to do that, I -”

“No, it’s fine.” Jaskier turns towards him with a tired smile, the years he’s lived suddenly evident in his bright golden eyes. “I understand your anger, and it’s rather sweet of you three to defend me like that. But you didn’t have to.”

“Of course we did,” Geralt snaps, recalling the way the drunk man had smashed his tankard into Jaskier’s face, and he lifts his hand to run his fingers gently over the bruise that colours Jaskier’s cheek. “They had no right to do that to you.”

Jaskier leans into his touch, eyes fluttering shut for a brief moment. “I’m fine, Geralt,” he says lowly, raising his hand to cover Geralt’s. “But you’re bleeding.”

“I’m -” Before Geralt can continue, Jaskier drags him towards the bathroom, wetting a cloth and gentle wiping it across Geralt’s face. 

“Next time,” Jaskier murmurs, dabbing the wet cloth under Geralt’s nose, and his touch is so tender, so gentle, those hands that wield his swords with deadly precision are now cleaning Geralt’s face oh-so-gently, and Geralt presses closer, seeking warmth. “Just leave it, okay? I can deal with it.”

At that, Geralt sucks in a sharp breath. “ _ Leave _ it?” he demands, taking a step back and clenching his fists, even as he mourns the loss of Jaskier’s touch. Jaskier can’t seriously think that he would - “Just - let them step all over you?”

“Yes,” Jaskier answers with a shrug, and how can he be so  _ calm _ about this? How can he just - just accept such treatment, acting all nonchalant, like it’s no big deal? “It’s not worth you three getting hurt, and those people aren’t worth your energy anyway.”

“But they  _ hurt _ you,” Geralt snarls, keeping his eyes on the dark bruise. “They called you - they called you -  _ that _ , and that man - he  _ hurt _ you.”

“It’ll heal,” Jaskier says, beckoning him to return, and Geralt does so reluctantly, letting Jaskier run the warm cloth over his face again and hiding a wince when Jaskier brushes the cloth past his still-tender nose. “I’ve had worse, and I don’t want the three of you to face the consequences of starting brawls randomly.”

“But - but -” Geralt stutters, momentarily disarmed by the warmth of Jaskier’s body pressed closed to his. “They were - I -”

He remembers the utter  _ fury _ that had risen within him when the man had spat  _ filthy mutant _ at Jaskier, when the man and his friends had crowded around Jaskier, when the man had smashed his tankard against Jaskier’s face, leaving a bruise, and the thought that Jaskier has endured  _ worse _ , that he’s so used to such treatment -

It makes Geralt want to fight the whole fucking world. 

Jaskier sighs, but it’s fond and affectionate. “I’m flattered that the three of you are willing to defend me like that,” he murmurs, removing the cloth from Geralt’s face and tossing it to the side, and stares into Geralt’s eyes, wide and earnest. “But you don’t have to.”

“We want to,” Geralt rasps out, knowing that his brothers feel the same way, feel the same protectiveness and righteous anger rear within them when  _ their _ witcher is attacked and insulted for no reason. “We hate seeing you being treated like this.”

He reaches up and cups Jaskier’s cheek, running his thumb over the bruise, which is already fading, but Geralt’s anger towards those men doesn’t abate, even at the sight of Jaskier’s enhanced body healing the bruise. Jaskier  _ shouldn’t _ have to suffer like this. He deserves so, so much better, and Geralt vows to give it to him, to spread his name across the Continent, to make the Continent love him and see him the way Geralt does - a hero, a kind, good man. 

Jaskier smiles, soft and sweet, and Geralt leans in to press a gentle kiss to the fading bruise before moving down to capture Jaskier’s lips. Jaskier sighs into his mouth, tangling his hands into Geralt’s hair, and Geralt sinks into him, letting himself to forget, for a moment, that there’s a world beyond them, a world filled with hatred and fear and violence. 

“Mm,” Jaskier mumbles as they part, and Geralt rests their foreheads together. 

“If there’s a next time,” Geralt rasps, feeling slightly breathless under the intensity of Jaskier’s golden eyes. “If there’s a next time, I’ll do the same. I know Eskel and Lambert will too.”

“Look at you, my very own band of bards protecting me from drunk arseholes,” Jaskier muses, chuckling softly, and runs a hand through Geralt’s hair. 

“Yes,” Geralt agrees, snuggling closer to Jaskier. He’s under no illusions that he can truly protect Jaskier, but if Jaskier refuses to defend himself, well, Geralt will do it for him. And his brothers will join him. “We’re very protective.”

“Indeed you are.” Dropping a kiss into Geralt’s curls, Jaskier gently tugs him towards the bed, and Geralt follows. “The world should be scared of you. No one will dare insult me, with you three defending me.”

Geralt hums, and Jaskier pulls him close. “Our witcher,” he mumbles, feeling suddenly drowsy, drained of energy. “My witcher.”

Jaskier releases a long breath, warm against Geralt’s cheek, and Geralt closes his eyes, relishing in the way Jaskier tucks his face against his neck, in the way Jaskier wraps around him. His nose aches slightly still, but he feels safe and secure and warm in Jaskier’s arms, and Geralt vows to make Jaskier’s life better, to show the world that witchers aren’t monsters, that they’re kind, gentle people with hearts of gold..

Wrapped in the arms of his witcher, Geralt falls asleep to the slow, steady beat of Jaskier’s heart, knowing that there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.

**Author's Note:**

> based on [this](https://jaskicr.tumblr.com/post/623100324604002304/reverseau-but-geralt-eskel-and-lambert-are-all) and [this](https://jaskicr.tumblr.com/post/620742547985301504/so-we-have-the-typical-reverse-au-where-jaskier-is) post i made on tumblr, if you want to check it out!
> 
> this au could possibly go bardsexual witcher jaskier if i ever decide to expand on it
> 
> come find me on tumblr [@jaskicr](https://jaskicr.tumblr.com/)!


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